


Stretch Out and Wait

by Charette



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 10000 - 15000 words, Fluff, M/M, kink meme fic, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charette/pseuds/Charette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one said being in love would be easy, but some things are worth the wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretch Out and Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme prompt: _Arthur is a life-long slow burner when it comes to sex. Not only in being cautious with who he lets get his clothes off (caution is part of the job) but in terms of warming up and coming. As a result, not a lot of people have had the patience for Arthur. He's been called "cold" and "frustrating."_
> 
>  _Eames, though, has all the time in the world, and thinks Arthur could be worth the time._

Eames wasn't a brash man, despite what some might think; he entered each situation he found himself in with caution, and carefully navigated his way to getting exactly what he wanted, or attempted to do so, at least. At work he structured meticulous plans and perfect forgeries, both in the dreamscape and in reality, and his interpersonal relations always had a certain distance to them until Eames was sure that he had figured his mark out, could reliably predict their behaviour. So, it came as something of a surprise to find that he had fallen in love, just a little, as soon as he had seen the lithe young point man Dom Cobb was dragging around behind him. It had something to do with the measured efficiency of his work, a little to do with the way he could handle heavy weaponry, and an awful lot to do with the way he looked in those suits of his. Years of pigtail pulling and flirting later, and Eames is pleasantly surprised to find that Arthur may in fact be considering going to dinner with him. It wasn't as if Arthur had run up to him and suggested his favourite restaurant, of course, but, well, Eames had made his usual offer of a celebratory dinner for two after a job done well, and Arthur was clearly considering it. That is, he had paused in packing away his notes and folders, and hadn't yet said no. It wasn't much, but it was good enough to send a smile to Eames' face.

"Arthur?" he prompts, hope dancing behind his (with any luck) enticing smile as he stalks his way across the short distance between himself and Arthur.

All Arthur does, damn him to hell and back, is smile at Eames, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and continues to pack up his belongings.

Eames watches him for some moments, waiting for him to do or say something, anything, even if it's to shoot down the idea as he usually does. "Arthur, I was rather hoping for an answer there, you know. At this point I would almost welcome a punch to the face, in fact." Still, nothing from Arthur. Eames raises an eyebrow. "Arthur, dearest of hearts, light of my life, my reason for being, would you please just tell me to fuck off so I can go back to my hotel and work my way through the drinks cabinet?"

Finally, Arthur turns to look at Eames properly. "Do you want me to?"

Eames frowns. "What?"

"Do you want me to tell you to fuck off?" Arthur answers slowly, as if he's speaking to a simpleton, which, let's face it, Eames is often reduced to when in close proximity to him. "Or would you like my honest answer?"

"... Is fuck off not your honest answer?"

That damnable smile again, this time with dimpled cheeks. "No, Eames. I think that maybe I would like to join you for dinner." He studies Eames for a moment, brow creasing in concern. "Unless you didn't mean it," he adds hastily, "in which case, neither did I."

"Arthur, I've meant it every time I’ve asked."

"You asked me to dinner about an hour after you first met me."

"And I meant it. You were so adorable back then. Although I did feel something of a letch for eyeing up Cobb's boy."

Arthur barks out a laugh. "Cobb's boy? You really--?" He breaks off into another laugh, and slings his bag over his shoulder. "I assume you know where I'm staying. Meet me at eight." With that, he leaves Eames to stare after his retreating back as he exits their base.

As a matter of fact, Eames does know where Arthur is staying, but he’s having some difficulty trying to remember where _he’s_ staying in the wake of Arthur's acceptance to a date -- a _date_ with _him._ He glances at his watch. Damn it. He only has two hours to find something in his wardrobe that wouldn't have Arthur slamming the door in his face as soon as he saw him.

After jumping into a cab and demanding that the driver send it hurtling towards his hotel, Eames takes the contents of his wardrobe and throwa it onto the bed. He first sorts it into two piles: passable and no-way-on-this-earth-would-it-lead-to-a-second-date. He takes his time searching for the perfect outfit with a diligence Arthur himself would be proud of. By the time he dons the suit - braces, waistcoat and cufflinks included - he is approaching the period of time where he could quite confidently say that he has no chance of arriving at Arthur's hotel before eight.

It’s only when he manages to ensnare another cab and send it off in the direction of the hotel that he allows himself to breathe. As his heart settles into a more sedate rhythm, however, his mind begins to race. Arthur is a tricky character. Eames has never known him to get too close to someone. He'd heard rumours of a relationship with a young slip of a thing a few years back, but no other tales of whirlwind romance came from the pages of Arthur's life, as far as he knew. Maybe Arthur has simply become sick of telling Eames where he could stuff his fancy dinner dates and decided that the most sure-fire way of getting his refusals into Eames' thick skull is to stand him up.

However, when he arrives at Arthur's hotel at a fashionably late time, there Arthur is, pristine and lovely in a dove grey suit, looking only mildly put out to having been kept waiting. Relief floods over Eames. He smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Arthur's cheek. He'd been waiting for years to kiss him, and by God if he wasn't going to make up for lost time. "I'm so sorry I'm late," he says, his breath ghosting over Arthur's skin.

"Don't worry about it," Arthur says as Eames pulls back from him, "It gave me time to call ahead to the restaurant." He pauses, and his eyes drift down Eames' body. "You look good," he says, simply.

Eames grins under Arthur's attention. "I thought you might run off if I showed up wearing something in plaid," he says as he presses a hand into the small of Arthur's back and steers him towards the door.

They decide to walk to the restaurant, their shoulders bumping together. "Why now?" Eames asks, only slightly terrified of the answer.

Arthur looks at him questioningly, but continues his steady walk, hands casually ruining the sharp line of his suit trousers as they're stuffed into his pockets. "Why did I finally agree, you mean." He continues, not waiting for an answer from Eames. What else could Eames have meant? "If I could, I would have said yes years ago, Eames. But, you know. I had Cobb to think of."

Performing only the most subtle of mental self-congratulations, Eames slides his arm around Arthur's shoulder. "Let's not think about Cobb right now, love, hm? Not when we have more important things to be discussing, like the fact that you've been pining for me for _years,_ " he laughs, tugging Arthur in tightly to his side as he grins.

Arthur laughs and pushes against Eames feebly in a half-hearted bid for freedom. "I do not pine, Eames. But now I know he's safe with Phil and James, I can start looking out for myself instead."

Eames doesn't say anything in response, simply squeezes Arthur's shoulder tightly and grins at him as he ushers him into the restaurant.

Throughout dinner, Eames has to fight down his nerves and remind himself that this is _Arthur_. Arthur, who he has spent years working side by side with; Arthur, who wears designer suits and then crumples them by pushing his sleeves up in the most endearing way; Arthur, who he's seen covered in face paint, wearing a princess hat at Philippa's birthday. Arthur, who is perfectly deadly with a Glock 17 and a cruel smile, and looks decidedly delicious across the table with a mouthful of steak.

Eames is almost certain he has never been so lost for words with Arthur before. There had been a moment of stunned silence when he was delivered a bullet to the head as a kick the first time they had worked together, and, if he were honest with himself, he felt that, right now, he’s experiencing a long, long kick and he’s free-falling, waiting for the jolt to bring him back to reality.

Arthur is his usual cool self, talking about this and that, his hands tracing elegant arches in the air as he explains his thoughts, and Eames is helpless but to watch the curve of his wrists peeking out from his cuffs. He barely notices when the movement of Arthur's hands stills -- in fact, may not have noticed at all if after their brief intermission of motion they hadn't seamlessly melded into a light touch upon his own hands. Eames blinks down at Arthur's fingers intertwining with his own, and slowly brings his gaze to meet Arthur's. Arthur is smiling fondly at him, in a way that Eames has only ever glimpsed briefly before. "Are you still hungry?" he asks.

Eames glances at the plate before him, and is surprised to see it nearly empty. "No," he replies honestly.

Arthur's smile widens. "Good," he says. "Then why don't we head somewhere else?"

Eames nods mutely, and Arthur motions for a waiter and asks for the bill, which he insists on paying for in its entirety. When they step outside, the cool air seems to clear Eames' head. "Was there a particular 'somewhere else' you had in mind?" he asks.

A small shrug pulls at Arthur's shoulder. "Not really. Let's just see where we end up, hm?"

As it happens, they end up trying to skim stones and creating waves on the surface of a lake in a picturesque park, and it's every ridiculous romantic notion Eames ever had of whittling away time with Arthur on a warm autumn's night. Arthur seems to be perfectly content to suffer splashes of dirty water on his suit in return for Eames' delighted laughter at seeing him so carefree and looking so _young_ , his hair slipping out of its gelled confines, curling slightly in front of his eyes.

After another failed attempt of Arthur's to skim a stone over the water, Eames captures him in a warm embrace from behind and huffs a small laugh out against the skin of Arthur's neck. "You know, the candles at dinner and the fancy wine weren't much of a surprise, but I had rather expected your pursuits of entertainment to involve a fair few more explosions."

Arthur turns in Eames' arms so they are facing each other. "There's plenty of time for explosions later, Eames," he deadpans, and Eames is thrown for a moment by the possibility of Arthur using a double entendre. He's just about to question exactly what he means, when Arthur surges forward and meets Eames' lips with his own.

Eames' surprise quickly melts into pleasure as Arthur steadies himself and deepens the kiss a little, his hands stroking through Eames' hair. Eames' own hands slide under Arthur's jacket to grasp the fabric of his shirt. Arthur is making positively delightful sounds as he leans into Eames, breaking away for only brief moments to gasp in lungfuls of air before pressing himself flush against his chest again. Eames is almost certainly embarrassing himself, clutching at Arthur as though he might disappear without a moment's notice, biting at his lips, pawing at his bare skin as he pulls his shirttails from his waistband, slipping his tongue into his mouth and honest to God _moaning_. But he can't bring himself to care, not when he's waited for so long and now he's armed with the knowledge that he could have had this years ago if it hadn't been for Dom Cobb and Arthur's ridiculous loyalty. But oh, if he has lost time with this marvelous man, he is going to make up for every lost second, even if it means getting down and dirty right here in the park.

But Arthur is pulling away from him, his lips red and his fingers still hooked around Eames' hips and he _must_ be able to feel Eames against him, half hard just from kissing and a few stolen touches of warm skin. "Sorry, I just--" He studies Eames, who is aware that he must look desperate and, really, thoroughly debauched with his hair sticking up at odd angles from Arthur's touches. Arthur smiles, warm and unbelievably fond, kisses the corner of Eames' mouth softly and nuzzles against his neck.

Eames is so utterly charmed that he can't continue to care about the change in pace. It's hard to equate this soft affection as belonging to the same man who has stood against a hundred snarling projections, back to back with Eames as they rip through bodies with machine guns. Eames makes a noise to urge Arthur to continue speaking, but his attention is fixed on the fact that Arthur’s still _here_ , pressed against him so tightly.

Arthur huffs against Eames' skin, and his grip around him tightens a little, as though he's scared Eames is going to slip away from him. "I'm going to sound like every bad cliche there is, but I want to take this slow, Eames," he says as he swipes a thumb over Eames' lower lip, "but, God, I could kiss you forever." He presses a kiss to Eames again in demonstration, but pulls away once more after a short moment.

Eames very nearly follows Arthur's lips as they retreat, aching for more contact. "That could be arranged. I'd quite happily devote my life to it, in fact," he says. "If you want to go slow though, then we'll go slow, love. I don't mind. I don't mind at all."

****

And so it goes; Eames and Arthur share kisses and good conversation and bowls of warm, sticky popcorn over bad movies. They systematically work through the world's restaurants, searching for the perfect sirloin steak and huddle together under the sheets in Arthur's bed, limbs tangled together and fingers interlinked. Their lives develop into a perfect picture of domesticity, between the dreamheist and the criminal activity. Eames all but forgets what the interior of his home looks like as he spends most of his time pouring over Arthur's extensive book collection and traipsing around after him in quaint Parisian antique markets, and only half-heartedly complains when they need to heft heavy furniture across the city. When they work, they work together, although most of the dream espionage community expect a package deal following the success stories of their inception of Robert Fischer's mind, and they end up working with either Ariadne or Yusuf more often than not. Yusuf feigns a complete lack of surprise to learn of Eames and Arthur's situation, but Eames catches him observing them with a slightly shocked expression whenever their usual taunts and jibes hold less venom than in times past. Ariadne had given Eames a high five after she had interrupted a heated kiss late one night, and now casually asks after them every so often, sending Eames texts full of exclamation marks when he mentions their latest date.

It's not exactly taking it _slow_ in any other sense than that they haven't progressed beyond kissing and a few quick fumbles, and certainly Eames has experienced no orgasms other than by his own hand, but the two of them have almost fallen into a ... Well, Eames would hate to liken it to a relationship of an old married couple, but that is what it's like. They shop for groceries together; they cuddle up together and read books, reading aloud if they happen across a passage the other might find interesting; Arthur sends him illicit, adorably mundane texts while he's at work, and Eames is so taken by Arthur breaking his work ethic to tell him that he's appalled by the cut of their chemist's trousers that it's all Eames can do to resist walking across the room and kissing him senseless. When they argue, which happens with some regularity, because they might have a burgeoning romance but they're still Arthur and Eames and they still have all the qualities that rankled in the past, Eames sulks in the study he's built up in the spare room and Arthur stalks the city's streets, returning hours later and nuzzling his chilled nose against Eames' neck in apology. Eames always, always concedes and wraps his arms around Arthur, kissing away the cold from his cheeks.

Around three months after their first date and soon after Eames stumbles across Arthur making curry at 10pm wearing nothing but his underwear and a kitchen apron, Arthur starts to push the physical side of their relationship further. Eames has been hesitant to ask for anything more than what has ever been offered by Arthur, and he is still hesitant to act even as Arthur is sitting astride his lap, grinding into Eames, gasping and moaning soft words into his mouth. Eames allows himself to plant his palms on Arthur's hips and guide his movements a little as he licks a wet stripe along the sharp jut of his collarbone. It's not that he thinks Arthur isn't ready; he'd said he wanted to take it slowly and Eames had agreed to do just that, but if Arthur has now decided he's ready for the next step, then Eames isn't going to second-guess him. It's just that he can feel Arthur's hard cock rutting against his, with only a few layers of clothing between them, and all Eames wants to do is remove that barrier and pin Arthur to the floor and fuck into him until they're both a sated, sticky mess, but he's so sure that that will be a step too far for Arthur.

Arthur's teeth bite deliciously into the skin of Eames' neck, and his fingernails mirror the action against the muscles of his back, then he's leaning back to pull Eames' shirt over his head and lick at the dark whorls of ink on his chest. Eames' hips stutter upwards against Arthur's, seeking more friction, his resolve gone. He falls back into the couch, pulling Arthur with him and presses a breathless kiss to his mouth. He's moaning Arthur's name and incomprehensible things into the shared air between them. He's not even aware of what he's saying, just that he wants _more_ and doesn't think he's ever been this hard before. Then Arthur is sliding his hand beneath the waistband of Eames' trousers and boxers and gripping around his cock and Eames comes embarrassingly quickly, arching up against Arthur and moaning raggedly.

Arthur stills against Eames, but Eames is sure he didn't come, he can still feel him hard against him. Arthur pulls his hand from Eames' pants and wipes it gingerly on his shirt. Then he's grinning at Eames as he's catching his breath, and he's pressing hot kisses to Eames' face. Eames snakes a hand between them to cup Arthur through his clothes, and Arthur hisses harshly and pushes into him all too briefly before he's sliding off Eames' lap to sit next to him. Eames throws him a questioning look. "Arthur, what--"

Arthur cuts him off with a kiss and hushes him. "It's okay, I'm good, I just-- God, you are so beautiful," another kiss, harder this time, "I'm okay. You don't have to." He smiles winningly, dimples deep in his cheeks, and Eames can't press the subject further; Arthur looks so _happy_ and Eames is damned if he's going to do anything to stop that smile.

Eames rests his cheek against Arthur's shoulder for a while, holding him close and running his hands down his back. He hums happily when Arthur kisses his temple and grumbles lightly when Arthur pulls away from his embrace. "Where are you going?"

Arthur smiles as he reassures him. "Bathroom," he says, before sauntering away from Eames, who can't help but watch the slight sway of his retreating hips.

Eames falls to his side to lie over the full length of the couch and stretches languidly. He scratches lazily at his stomach and pulls his boxers away from his skin, wet and sticky and quickly becoming uncomfortable. He decides that as soon as Arthur re-emerges from the bathroom, he's going to spin him right back around and march him under the warm spray of the shower. Eames will help him wash his back.

Eames reaches for a nearby newspaper and starts to fill out the puzzles while he waits for Arthur. He waits until he has finished the crossword and the sudoku and he might have believed that Arthur had jumped into the shower already, but he can't hear any water running. He drops the paper to his lap with a huff and glares at the door of the bathroom. "Arthur!" he calls.

"Yeah?" comes a muffled reply a few seconds later.

"Hurry up, I want to shower, and maybe get you all wet and soapy with me," Eames shouts back.

There's a soft noise from behind the bathroom door, and Arthur says, "Yeah, just-- just a minute." There's a distinct hitch in his breath that Eames recognises immediately. His eyebrows furrow as he rises from the couch, softly padding over to the bathroom door, listening intently. Sure enough, he can hear Arthur's breath catching in his throat and the occasional soft, bitten-back moan.

It's two more minutes before Arthur groans, long and stifled, and there's water running as he presumably washes up after himself. Eames leans against the wall beside the door and waits until Arthur steps into the room. His step falters as soon as he sees Eames, who does nothing but raise an eyebrow and mutter a simple, "Alright?"

Arthur is silent for a moment, clearly weighing up his options as he looks at Eames slightly wide-eyed. He visibly deflates, his shoulders drooping and a look of worried resignation settles over his face. "Let's... Let's have that shower you mentioned," he says, avoiding Eames' eyes, and turns on his heel to return to the bathroom where he begins to remove his clothes slowly and methodically.

Eames sighs and stands in the door frame to watch him. He studies him with a thoughtful frown until Arthur turns to face him, apprehensive. He steps forward and presses a quick kiss to Arthur's forehead. "Go on, then," he says, voice carefully casual, "hop in the shower before you get cold."

Arthur hesitates, then does as ordered and stands under the hot spray of water, allowing his hair to fall over his eyes.

Eames pulls his clothes off and steps into the shower behind Arthur, running his hands over his shoulders and muttering against his neck. "Anything you want to tell me, Arthur?" He tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but only succeeds in sounding accusatory.

There's no answer from Arthur.

Eames sighs heavily, but wraps his arms around Arthur tightly, holding him to his chest. "It's alright. Let's just get us cleaned up, hm?" he says, pressing light kisses to the back of Arthur's neck.

They wash in silence, and Eames wraps a fluffy towel around Arthur once they have rinsed the bubbles of soap from their skin. He dries himself, and watches as Arthur does the same. "Come to bed," he says, discarding the towel and padding out of the room naked.

When Arthur finally follows him to the bedroom, Eames is reclining against the pillows, the covers over his waist. Arthur settles down next to him, still visibly tense. Eames tuts, and pulls him down against him forcefully, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s shoulder and doesn't relent until he relaxes against him.

They fall asleep like that, cuddled up together with Eames' arm around Arthur, almost possessively. When Eames wakes the following morning, Arthur is gone.

****

Eames wakes slowly, huddling down into the covers, curling an arm over to the space where Arthur should be. When his absence dawns upon Eames, he sits up groggily in bed, rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. "Arthur?" he calls into the apartment, and listens for a reply or a tell-tale crack of crockery banging together from the kitchen. The apartment is deadly silent.

Eames hauls himself out of bed and pulls on the first clothes he finds. He pads out into the hallway, calls Arthur's name again futilely and searches through each and every room. Of course, he doesn't find Arthur. He tries calling his phone, but he hears the tinny ringtone calling back at him mockingly from the living room. "God fucking damn it!" Eames swears, throwing his own phone down angrily. He runs his fingers through his hair and steadies his breathing with a series of ragged inhalations.

He could call Cobb. Even Arthur wouldn't be able to make it over the ocean to LA in the time that's passed, but maybe he had called him before disappearing into the night. Maybe Cobb would know where Arthur had gone even without talking to him. They'd known each other long before Eames ever came into the picture, and he was sure that Cobb understood Arthur better than Eames ever could; for all his skill at reading people, Arthur sometimes eludes him like a closed book in a language he doesn’t understand. Eames does a mental calculation of the time differences and sighs as he realises that it’s currently an ungodly time of the night in LA and Cobb will not be best pleased at being woken. There goes that idea, then. Eames could run out onto the streets and search for Arthur, but the chances of finding him in the vast sprawl of the city are pitifully low, and Arthur had probably just gone out for some groceries or something and had simply forgotten his phone and would be back within the hour.

Eames brews a pot of tea and waits.

The tea goes cold before he moves again. He dumps the entirety of the pot into the sink, retrieves his phone and, of course, finds no messages or missed calls. He moves into his study, paws through books and chooses one at random. He settles into the Eames recliner that Arthur had bought him as a joke, and opens it on the first page. By page 276 his stomach is rumbling loudly. He makes an unnecessarily complicated meal to pass the time, and makes enough for the both of them out of habit. He eats his share as he chats to Ariadne, his phone wedged between his head and his shoulder, as Arthur's goes cold on the plate.

Finally, finally, the lock of the front door clicks just as the sun is setting. Eames is up and out of his chair, sprinting for the door in seconds. Arthur steps inside, wrapped up in his woollen coat, scarf up to his ears covering the lower half of his face against the cold, a paper bag filled to the brim in his arms. He looks at Eames and smiles sheepishly. "Hey," he says quietly.

Eames cannot control his anger, nor stop hurt from edging into his voice. "Where have you been?"

Arthur winces minutely at the tone of his voice. "Sorry, I needed some time to myself."

"Evidently," Eames growls, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't trust himself to say any more, so he takes the bag from Arthur, despite his protests, and dumps it in the kitchen. "Might as well get yourself warm," he calls back to Arthur, who is standing mutely in the hall.

Eames can hear Arthur pottering about, pulling his boots and jacket off, tucking them away tidily, rubbing his hands together to warm them. Eames begins to pull the items from the bag. Apples, parsnips, wine, blue cheese... He hears Arthur enter the room behind him. He doesn't turn to face him, but speaks softly, more upset than angry now that Arthur has returned to him. "You left me to wake up alone to buy food?"

Arthur touches his shoulder, and he turns to look at him. Arthur presses a rectangle wrapped in brown paper into his hand. He looks between the package and Arthur for a few seconds. "What's this?" he asks.

"An apology."

Eames frowns and turns the package over in his hands, examining it. "Arthur, I don't want an apology. I want you to not run off every time we have a fight."

"Is that what that was, last night?"

Eames scoffs. "Fuck if I know what you were up to yesterday. I mean, you get me off and then, what, you ... don't want me to touch you? Is that it?"

"No!" Arthur says, too quickly and too loudly. "I want you to touch me, I do."

Eames waits for him to continue, but no further explanation is forthcoming. He sighs and huffs out a humourless laugh. He places Arthur's gift down next to the food and pulls Arthur towards him, tightening his arms around his shoulders. "Arthur," he says, kissing his temple softly, "whatever this is, you're going to have to explain it to me at some point. I can't understand it. You wanted to go slow, fine, I'm not going to force you to do anything, but..." he pulls away, holding Arthur at arm’s length, "jerking yourself off in the bathroom when I'm right in the next room, willing to give you _everything you want_. I just... I don't get it."

Arthur has never looked so helpless. Eames almost wants to take back everything he's said, almost wishes that he hadn't woken until Arthur had returned home. He picks up his gift and grasps Arthur's hand, dragging him into the living room. "Come on, then. Let's see this gift you got me." He falls back onto the couch, and coaxes Arthur to settle against his chest. When he does so, Eames kisses the back of his neck, which elicits a small sound and makes him settle further back into Eames. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur and peers over his shoulder as he begins to tear the paper from the gift. He freezes when he sees it unwrapped. "You... You got me a first edition of Thérèse Raquin," he chokes out, awed. "Jesus Christ, Arthur."

Arthur turns slightly and grins at Eames' dumbstruck expression. "Knew you'd like it."

"Of course I bloody do. But Arthur... This is the kind of gift you give as an apology for burning down someone's house or killing their favourite aunt, not just for being a confusing bastard."

Arthur shrugs. "Well, I meant my apology. Anyway, I like buying you nice things." He looks away and settles back onto Eames' chest, stroking along the bare skin of his arm. "I want you to have the best."

Eames carefully places the book down on the coffee table and wrestles Arthur into a position so he can kiss him deeply. "I already do."

****

The following morning, Eames wakes to find Arthur curled snugly against his ribs, one arm slung over his hips. He shuffles down the bed so their heads are at the same level, and in doing so wakes Arthur, who snuffles and buries his face against the warm skin of Eames' shoulder.

"Morning, love," says Eames stroking his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"Mmmph," replies Arthur, resolutely refusing to move more than absolutely necessary.

Eames tuts. Between the two of them, he is constantly surprised that it’s Arthur who is worse at mornings. As cute as Arthur is with his hair curling around his ears, shuffling around in a pair of sweatpants and Eames' hoodie, Eames has seen the things that man can do with a handgun, and knows he isn't to be trifled with when he is in a bad mood. He tries to extract himself from Arthur's grip, but is forced to hastily backtrack his actions when Arthur all but growls at him.

A few moments later, with Eames once again settled under the plush bedcovers, Arthur mutters a few muffled words into Eames' shoulder.

"You're going to have to repeat that one, darling. Preferably to my face rather than my arm."

Arthur lifts his head to glare balefully and sleep-mussed at Eames. "I said we have nothing we need to do today."

Eames nods in agreement. "Very true."

"So why are you trying to leave the bed?"

Eames considers this and can't think of any reason why he would want to when he has a bedraggled Arthur lying next to him. Except-- "Hold that thought, nature calls," and he's scrambling out from Arthur and into the bathroom in a hurry.

The apartment is cold, and Eames wishes he had taken the time to pull some socks on. His toes are starting to go numb against the bitter wooden flooring. When he's done drying his hands in the bathroom, he returns to the bedroom after a quick diversion via the kitchen to make some coffee in Arthur's posh little cafetiere. He carries a tray with the coffee, along with pre-heated coffee cups, a small jug of milk and brown sugar cubes, towards the bedroom and wonders how he ever became so domesticated. Then he steps through the doorframe and there's his answer: Arthur, cocooned in blankets, smiling sleepily at him in the hazy morning light. In all honesty, Eames hadn't ever conceived that he might be in such an arrangement, and hadn't expected it from Arthur, but he had seemingly been lured in by Arthur's goose-down pillows and leather upholstery, late nights and later mornings, the glorious contrast between the calm he found with Arthur in his home and the excitement he found with him in the dreamscape.

He sets the coffee on the bedside table, allowing it to brew, and slides back under the covers, relishing the warmth that envelops him as he likewise wraps himself around Arthur. He hums contentedly, and slips his hands under Arthur's shirt, up the strong muscles of his back. Arthur hisses and complains about his cold fingers, but doesn't make any effort to move away. Instead, he presses himself closer to Eames and plants small kisses to his collarbone. "I'm sorry about the other day," he reminds Eames.

"Your ridiculously rare and overpriced gift said as much. And _I_ said it was okay. I just can't for the life of me see what the issue is."

Arthur studies him for a moment, considering. He inhales deeply, and speaks as though he's forcing the words out. Maybe he is. "I've lost people because of it. People I've been in relationships with, people I've loved." The implication of his words isn't lost on Eames, but before he can comment, Arthur soldiers on with his speech. "I was scared that the same would happen with you, and thought maybe if I could just make sure you were satisfied, then it wouldn't matter."

Eames frowns, feeling like he's only caught the tail end of a conversation and he's struggling to grasp the subject under discussion. "What's 'it,' Arthur?" he asks carefully.

Arthur takes another deep breath and seems to gear himself up for his confession. When he speaks, his words come tumbling out like a dam has broken and they're flowing uncontrollably towards the ocean. "I've always taken a long time to come. Even when I was a teenager, I just-- It takes longer for me than anyone I've ever known. It's not that I don't find sex enjoyable, I do, but my partners always finish before me and they usually end up thinking it's their fault and that I'm cold and cruel and then they leave because they can't wait around for me all the time." When he finishes talking, he avoids Eames' eyes and curls a little in on himself.

Eames can't help it; he lets out a small chuckle. Arthur looks horrified and perfectly vicious for a moment, but Eames hastily pulls him against his chest and peppers his face with kisses. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur... Love, that's -- now, don't take this the wrong way -- that's ridiculous."

Arthur simultaneously looks relieved, mortified and very much like he's battling his fight or flight instincts.

Eames continues. "Why on earth did you think that would bother me? Hm?" he coaxes, but receives no reply. He kisses Arthur again, this time firmly on his lips. "I wouldn't care if it took two minutes or two hours. All I want is to be the one causing it." He grins wickedly and bites his teeth into Arthur's jaw.

Eames eventually remembers about the coffee, but by that time it is stone cold and Arthur is sporting some rather fetching red marks on his collarbones, and is pliant and wrapped around Eames' chest and smiling into the crook of his neck. Eames would rise from the bed to make some more coffee, but the lure of a warm Arthur and the threat of a cold apartment is enough to keep him curled under the covers. He cards his fingers through Arthur's hair and pets him absent-mindedly. "I think staying in bed was very possibly one of your best ideas, you know."

Arthur hums in agreement. "We should do it more often," he says simply.

"Maybe all the time," adds Eames. "Oh, but, we have to leave at some point tonight. I want to wine and dine you, and there's very little in the way of fine dining to be had in this bed."

"I don't know about that," replies Arthur, nipping his teeth sharply into Eames's neck. "But okay."

****

Hours later, Eames has to forcibly remove Arthur from the bed, and forcibly squash the small tremor of arousal he gets from being able to heft his weight around so easily. Arthur grumbles and complains about the cold as he slicks back his hair and shaves, and dresses hurriedly. He has his coat collar popped up around his chin and his gloved hands stuffed into his pockets before Eames has even managed to straighten out his tie. He decides to forgo the tie when he can't manage to get it lying quite right and when Arthur's impatient stare threatens to burn straight through him. He quickly kits himself out for the cold, and loops a scarf around Arthur's neck, tying it securely. He kisses Arthur's nose, pulls his hand from his pocket and holds onto it tightly, all but pulling Arthur out of the door and into the street.

Arthur's mood warms as his body does, and soon he is talking animatedly and swinging his and Eames' hands slightly between them. He seems not to realise where they're headed until Eames is guiding him through the doors of the restaurant where they had conducted their first date together. He raises an eyebrow, but smiles and refuses to drop Eames' hand until they're being led to their table and he has to remove his coat and gloves. They settle into their seats opposite each other, and their ankles are immediately intertwined. Conversation flows smoothly, as does the wine, and soon they are both pink-cheeked with warmth, wine and happiness and tucking into their meals.

Eames talks Arthur into a dessert, and therefore enjoys being able to indulge in the sight of Arthur's tongue darting out to quickly swipe chocolate from his spoon. Arthur must notice Eames' scrutiny, because his movements become decidedly lewd after a minute or so.

"You're a terrible bastard, darling," Eames whispers to Arthur as he hands over his card to pay for their meal.

Arthur smiles angelically and tugs Eames' scarf tighter around his neck.

When they step outside, Eames grabs hold of Arthur's hand and marches him over to a nearby alley, where he pushes him against the wall and kisses him deeply. Arthur is tense for a moment, but relaxes quickly and grips Eames' scarf, pulling him closer and holding him in place as he returns the kiss with gusto.

They kiss unhurriedly, enjoying the smooth slide of their tongues against each other and the steady pressure of Eames' chest pressing Arthur into the bricks behind him. Arthur tugs on Eames' scarf, and uses it to steer his head minutely to deepen the kiss further. Eames responds by sliding a knee between Arthur's thighs and grinding up against him. His answering moan seems to kick Arthur back to reality, and he pushes Eames away gently, stepping forward into his space and kissing him again in apology. "We're not doing this in a dirty alleyway in the middle of winter," he says against Eames' skin.

Eames tries to bite back the whine in his throat. "Why not?" he asks, but Arthur is already walking back into the street, glancing quickly behind him to call Eames to heel. Eames trots to catch up, and throws his arm around Arthur's shoulder when they're side by side. "I do hope we're heading home, Arthur, otherwise I won't be held responsible for my actions."

They had planned for their date to last a few more hours, but Eames' arm is slipping down from Arthur’s shoulder and his leather-clad fingers are pushing at the waistband of his trousers. Arthur's resolve melts, and he hails a cab. They clamber in together, and sit with their thighs pressed up against one another. Eames' hand climbs further up Arthur's inseam as the vehicle trundles along the road.

By the time they round the corner of their street, Arthur is fighting back whimpers as Eames suckles on his earlobe and his hand is beginning to tug on the fly of Arthur’s trousers and _thank god_ because it wouldn’t do for the night to end in arrest for public indecency.

The driver very carefully avoids their eyes as they exit the car and speeds off when Arthur presses a wad of cash into his hand without counting it.

Arthur turns to Eames. "You. Get inside right now."

Eames' grin is wicked, and it contrasts sharply with the chaste kiss he delivers to Arthur's knuckles before he pulls him after him and into the building. They all but sprint up the stairs to their floor. Eames’ hands shake a little as he fumbles for the key to the apartment. Mercifully, the key slides into the lock and the door swings open. Arthur is on Eames in an instant, pushing him up against the wall in a reversal of their previous position, and begins to unravel the layers of clothes covering Eames' body as he kisses him frantically.

Eames is likewise tugging at Arthur's clothes, although he makes less progress as he seems to get distracted by every inch of Arthur's skin that becomes bared. He stalls completely when he wrenches Arthur's shirt off and devotes time to sucking marks into the skin of his chest. Arthur winds his fingers, still encased in the soft leather of his gloves, through Eames' hair, tugging at it when teeth bite sharply into his skin. Eames pulls away after a moment and studies his handiwork with a hungry grin. "You look good like this, you know," he says, nipping at his neck again. "Tonight was fun, we should do it again. There's something very thrilling about having my pristine Arthur up against a wall in an alleyway."

Arthur grinds his hips against Eames', but resolutely shakes his head. "Not a chance, Eames."

"So, is public sex out of the question for you then, darling?"

Arthur shrugs nonchalantly. "Not necessarily. We could do it somewhere cleaner. I just don't like getting my knees dirty." With that, he drops down in front of Eames and unfastens his belt and the fly of his trousers.

Eames makes an undignified sound. "Jesus Christ, Arthur."

Arthur hums and kisses Eames’ hip as he tugs his trousers down his thighs. Eames' head thunks as it falls back to hit the wall behind him when Arthur mouths at his erection through his boxers. Arthur takes his time, languidly running his tongue over the hard lines of Eames’ cock and taking the head into his mouth. Eames groans long and low, and it evolves into a positively sinful sound when Arthur slides his boxers down to meet his trousers around his ankles. He places a sweet, short kiss right to the tip and strokes his hands down Eames' hips, then he's all business, sucking in inches of him and working the remaining length near the base with his gloved hand as he hollows his cheeks and sets to work at reducing Eames to incoherency.

It's not long before Eames is gripping his hair and fighting the urge to buck his hips forward into Arthur's mouth. "Arthur--"

Arthur pulls away with a lick of his lips and jacks Eames' cock quickly. His quiet gasp of pleasure is drowned out by Eames' moan when he comes, drops of it splattering past Arthur's hand and onto his chest.

Eames slides down the wall and pulls Arthur to him in a breathless kiss. "I wanna see you come, Arthur, please," he begs.

Eames doesn't so much see Arthur's reaction as _feel_ it; a shiver that runs down his body right to the tips of his fingers where they're clasped in the fabric of Eames' shirt lying open on his chest. Arthur's reaction becomes markedly less subtle, and he's clambering onto Eames, settling himself in his lap, straddling a thigh and rutting up against him as they breathe hotly into each other's mouths. Eames' hands pull Arthur towards him firmly, running down his bare back and coming to rest on his hips, attempting to guide the movement of Arthur's hips for a moment before surrendering to his rhythm.

Arthur pulls away from their half-kiss to bite at the dark skin of Eames' tattoos on his shoulder, and it gives Eames ample opportunity to move one hand to the front of Arthur's trousers to slip under the fabric where they're open at the fly. Arthur groans when Eames runs his knuckles over his cock and Eames very nearly echoes the noise.

"This alright, Arthur?" Eames asks, carefully.

Arthur shifts his hips forward and nudges into Eames' hand as an answer. Eames grins delightedly and kisses Arthur's temple. "Hold on, then, love," he says, and without waiting for Arthur to do so, holds both of his hands firmly against Arthur's back and shifts their combined weight so he's pushing Arthur onto his back and he's leaning over him, encasing him between his arms, one knee pressed firmly between Arthur's thighs.

He struggles to kick off his remaining clothes from around his ankles, then grins wolfishly and presses his knee forwards. Arthur replies with a strangled moan and forces Eames' mouth down to meet his own. They kiss desperately with Arthur moving against Eames' knee, arching his back for more contact. Eames tries to pull away from the kiss to divest Arthur of his remaining clothing but receives a threatening growl for his efforts, and resorts to trying to wrestle the waistband down the slim hips beneath him with his tongue still firmly in Arthur's mouth. He manages to wrench himself away from Arthur's grasp and places apologetic kisses to his chest and stomach as he shuffles down to pull Arthur's shoes and socks from him, immediately followed by his trousers and briefs. All that remains are the soft leather gloves encasing the hands that are ushering Eames back up Arthur's body.

"Oh, Arthur," Eames breathes, leaning in to kiss him firmly, one hand laying on the taut muscle above his hip bones.

He's seen Arthur naked before, of course he has, but he's never seen him hard, and nowhere near so desperate. He's beautiful, and Eames says as much as he curls a hand around Arthur's dick, drawing it to full hardness as he strokes along its length and down again, teasingly slowly. Even if what Arthur says is true and he does take a long time to come, well, Eames is in no hurry, and he'd quite happily have Arthur lying beneath him forever, pink cheeked and moaning as he clasps at Eames' shoulders.

Eames keeps his touch light and unhurried as he delights in the sounds he draws from Arthur, who is trying in vain to stifle the groans that escape him.

"Arthur," Eames purrs, "how could you think I wouldn't want this? Look at you... Just look at you. Anyone who ever said you were cold must've been mad, absolutely crazy. Who would ever leave you when you're like this, hm? How could anyone ever..." He presses soft kisses to the dark marks he had bestowed upon Arthur's collarbones that morning. "You're perfect, just perfect, so beautiful."

With a departing nip of his teeth against Arthur's skin, he shuffles down further, glancing upwards to see Arthur watching him with wide, dark eyes. He grins devilishly and snakes out his tongue to lick away a few drops of his own come from Arthur's chest, drawing out a shuddering breath from Arthur.

Eames answers with a short, thrilled laugh, and busies himself in extracting more sounds from Arthur by latching onto a nipple and sucking gently. Arthur lets his head fall backwards against the floorboards, exposing the length of his neck, and cards the fingers of one hand through Eames' hair as he shifts his hips to meet the rhythm Eames has set.

Eames forces himself to keep his movements slow; as much as he'd like to give in to the urge to pull out all the stops... well, that's to be saved for later. He murmurs endearments against the sparsely-haired skin beneath his lips as he diverts his attention to the other nipple, greeting it sharply with his teeth, earning him a curse from Arthur. He presses a chaste kiss to it, before peppering similar kisses down Arthur's ribs and over his belly to his hips, where he pauses to allow himself to admire the view of his own hand slicking along the length of Arthur's cock.

"Beautiful," he says again, and presses a kiss to the head, swiping away a bead of precome with his lips.

"Fuck, Eames, yes," Arthur moans raggedly, tightening his grip on Eames' hair and pressing his hips upwards.

"Easy, love," Eames chastises gently, but licks along the underside of Arthur's cock and takes the head into his mouth all too briefly before breaking contact completely and sitting back on his knees. "Turn over for me, darling, would you," he says, stroking along the length of Arthur's thigh to his calf.

Arthur glares, but the effect is somewhat weakened by the lust in his eyes. He pulls himself up and kisses Eames soundly, muttering obscenities into his mouth, then obediently turns and braces himself on all fours.

Eames hums and drapes himself over Arthur's back, wrapping his arms firmly around his stomach and speaks into the skin between his shoulder blades. "This alright? You doing okay?"

Arthur groans, impatient and unbearably _needy_. "Jesus, yes, would you just--" He breaks off into a moan as Eames shifts, and his cock slides between the cheeks of Arthur's arse. "Yes..!" Arthur hisses.

Eames chuckles and leans back, his hands on Arthur's hips, and angles himself to repeat the motion, causing another hiss of pleasure from Arthur. Arthur is pressing back against him, and his elbows are bent slightly, pushing his arse into the air. "Oh, Arthur. Jesus, if you could see yourself. Perfect, just perfect," Eames says as he slides his cock over Arthur's hole again. When he withdraws, he pulls back all the way, settling down onto his heels, and Arthur _follows_ angling himself to try to maintain contact as he peers over his shoulder.

Eames smiles fondly and runs a soothing hand over the dimples in Arthur's back. "Condoms?"

"What?" replies Arthur, dumbly.

"Condoms, sweetheart," Eames repeats.

Arthur looks at him blankly. "I thought you would have them," he says, hesitantly.

Eames meets Arthur's gaze with a level stare. "This is your house, Arthur."

"I wasn't expecting to have sex, was I?" Arthur snaps, and scrambles around until he's facing Eames properly. "And besides, you pretty much live here too!"

Eames places his hands on his hips. "Jesus Christ, you plan everything with military precision but can't predict that I might want to fuck you senseless and prepare accordingly?"

Arthur scowls at him. "It's a two-way street, Eames." He stands suddenly, and wrenches the gloves from his hands, throwing them to lie with his other clothes. "Look, let's just forget it, okay?"

"What? No, Arthur," Eames says as he rises to his feet hurriedly and grips a hand around Arthur's wrist, resisting when it tries to pull away from him. "No condoms and a bit of a quarrel doesn't get you out of coming down my throat."

Arthur relaxes in Eames' hold, but his eyes sharpen. "Okay," he says simply, and kisses Eames soundly before gently tugging him through the living room and into the bedroom. Eames pads along behind him dutifully, his thumb sweeping gentle caresses over the soft skin of Arthur's wrist.

They halt in front of the bed and Eames is pulled gruffly into a deep kiss. Their tongues entwine and their hands roam over each other's bodies until Arthur is pressing his erection insistently into Eames' hip and panting slightly.

Without pulling away from the kiss, Eames turns Arthur slightly and pushes him so he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He awkwardly kneels before him and runs his hands down from their resting place on Arthur's back down his flank to his knees, which he presses against firmly, forcing them apart. Arthur finally breaks the kiss with a moan.

Eames grins at him. "Alright?"

Arthur nods mutely in reply and reaches out to stroke a hand over Eames' cheek.

Eames turns his head to kiss Arthur's palm gently, his eyes sliding shut. He speaks softly against the warm skin, "Remember, it doesn't matter how long it takes, okay?" He meets Arthur's gaze briefly to ascertain his understanding then pulls him into a kiss that trails down his neck and onto his shoulders. Eames smiles and drags his tongue over the dark marks he has bestowed upon the skin there. "You look so good with my mark on you, darling," he whispers reverently, and Arthur's fingers twine through his hair. Eames hums, pleased, and continues to move his kisses downwards, biting his teeth into Arthur's ribs. He carefully eases Arthur backward until he's reclining on the bed, propped up by his elbows and watching Eames eagerly. Eames winks at him and cracks a grin before continuing his kisses and the nipping of his teeth to Arthur's hips, then between his legs to the soft flesh of his thighs.

He reaches out and slicks his hand down Arthur’s cock once, just to see the jump of the muscles in his thighs and to hear the hitch in his breath.

Arthur drops his head back and groans. “Eames, please,” he says, breathlessly, and quietly adds, “This is going to take long enough without you teasing me.”

Eames tuts and presses a firm kiss to Arthur’s knee. “What did I say just before, Arthur? It doesn’t matter how long it takes. You’re worth every second.”

Arthur raises his head and meets Eames’ eye. His eyes are wide open and bright, and it looks as though he’s about to say something, but Eames raises himself onto his knees and leans forward to take Arthur’s cock into his mouth, and Arthur’s words are cut off with a moan.

Eames moves slowly at first, the need to savour Arthur’s taste overwhelming and the weight of him on his tongue too much to stop him from moaning deeply. Arthur echoes the noise, and Eames looks up at his face, perfectly flushed and mouth open slightly-- and Eames falters. He has to pull back to catch his breath and breathe out Arthur’s name in wonder, and all thought of savouring this goes out of the window. This isn’t about him. Arthur is lying in front of him, spread out and open, offering himself up to Eames, and he’s the most beautiful thing Eames has ever seen.

He curls a hand around the base of Arthur’s cock, and leans forward once more to kiss the tip, open-mouthed and wet, and simply parts his lips further and moves forward to allow Arthur to slip into his mouth. Arthur’s hips jutter and push forward a little, and he tries to apologise, but Eames silences him with a caress of his thumb on Arthur’s hip. He looks upwards through his lashes again and moves both of his hands to Arthur’s hips and under him to his lower back. His broad hands span the width of Arthur’s slim hips easily, and he catches a glimpse of Arthur’s eyes, wide and dark. Arthur is forced to let his arms out from under him and lie back as Eames lifts his hips up and towards his mouth. Eames takes as much of Arthur into his mouth as he can, until dark curls are tickling at his nose and he’s forced to retreat as his lungs cry for oxygen. Pulling back, his tongue flickers over the head, and Arthur groans long and low.

Eames becomes wholly absorbed in the slick slide of Arthur’s cock in his mouth and the soft nudge of the head at the back of his throat, with Arthur’s breaths growing heavier and his gasped words becoming less intelligible. Eames’ jaw is aching and his throat is going to be raw tomorrow morning, but God, he can see Arthur’s hands clenched in the sheets beneath him, and he’s slung his knees over Eames’ shoulders to try to have something to push against to lift his hips further, and if Eames stopped now he would have to be certified insane.

He’s tracing along thick veins and catching a falling drop of precome with his tongue when Arthur croaks out his name. The tone has changed, and Arthur’s breaths are hitching with difficulty, rather than exertion. Eames pulls back entirely and lowers Arthur’s hips.

“I can’t-- I can’t do this, Eames,” Arthur gasps, and he sounds close to tears with the effort of it all.

Eames clambers onto the bed beside Arthur and pulls him close. “Shhh, just breathe, love. I’ve got you.” He kisses Arthur’s red cheeks and smooths his hands down his sides to rest on his waist.

Arthur gasps in lungfuls of air until his breathing has slowed to a less panicked pace.

Eames speaks softly against Arthur’s heated skin. “Why don’t you show me how you like it, hm?”

Arthur meets his eyes uncertainly.

Eames kisses him gently. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave, sweetheart.”

Arthur nods minutely, and settles on his knees in front of Eames, anxiety still flitting over his face. Eames strokes down Arthur’s leg and back up his thigh where he can feel the tensing of muscle beneath his palm as the fingers of his other hand card through the short hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He tugs Arthur forwards into a long, wet kiss, their tongues rolling together and Eames drinks in the soft moans from Arthur’s mouth.

Eames breaks away with a gasp and rests his forehead against Arthur’s. “Arthur, darling, please,” he breathes, overwhelmed by his need to see Arthur undone.

A shudder courses its way down Arthur’s spine, and he actually cries out when he grips around his cock. His forehead drops down onto Eames’ shoulder, and Eames moves automatically to stroke down the lean muscle of Arthur’s back as he whispers into his ear. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”

Arthur chokes out Eames’ name, and begins to move. He gasps and moans as shivers run through his body, and Eames holds him close, patient and soothing.

Sweat is pooling in the dip of Arthur’s collarbone before he pulls away from Eames, arching his back, and finally, finally Eames can see those quick, slim fingers working over his flushed cock straining towards his stomach.

Eames is enthralled. He can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch Arthur’s jaw, nor from gasping out praise and endearments. He can’t even keep track of what he’s saying, he just knows how much he needs to have Arthur understand exactly how stunning he looks right now, keening into his own touch and flushing so beautifully. Eames is captivated by the deft twists of Arthur’s wrist, and the sweep of his thumb over the head of his cock, and he’s cataloguing the reaction Arthur has to each touch; what makes him bite his lower lip until it’s pale from the pressure and what has him clenching his fist hard into his own skin. Arthur’s moans and gasps slowly grow silent, replaced by the tensing of his abdominal muscles and the tremors in his thighs. His eyes have been screwed tightly shut until this point, but they fly open now, and Arthur whimpers Eames’ name out.

“Yes, yeah, come on Arthur, that’s it, you’re doing so well,” Eames says, scooting closer to Arthur, his own erection curving towards his stomach, dripping and neglected.

Arthur whines and sobs, “Eam-- Eames, God, I’m so close, fuck, I can’t--”

Eames wraps his hand over Arthur’s and captures his mouth in a kiss that Arthur can only gasp into as he shakes and then Arthur is crying out and his come is spilling over their entwined fingers and shooting up to hit their chests. Arthur falls forward onto Eames’ shoulder, his breaths heaving as Eames strokes his hair. “Arthur, Arthur, you’re-- God, you’re so beautiful, so good for me, fuck-- Arthur, thank you.” He’s babbling, saying nonsense, but it doesn’t matter, because Arthur’s recovering and he’s looking at Eames like all his Christmases have come at once and pulling him into a kiss that he gladly melts into.

“I’ve never... No one’s ever...,” Arthur trips over his words as he runs his hands down Eames’ chest, and Eames is just about to reply, but Arthur slicks his hand down Eames’ cock and it takes precisely five seconds until he’s coming and gripping tight onto Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur tugs them both down to the bed and immediately fits himself against Eames’ chest, his head tucked into the crook of Eames’ neck. Eames can feel Arthur’s smile against his skin and he wraps his arms around him tightly. They allow themselves some time to steady their hearts, lying side by side simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies, but Arthur begins to get restless after a while. He insists that they clean themselves up properly, and tugs Eames grumbling to the shower. Eames would be content with a cursory wipe down if it meant he could stay curled up with Arthur for a little longer. Arthur is frighteningly good at getting what he wants with Eames, though, so they rinse each other down under the warm stream of water, and Eames presses kisses to Arthur’s back as he dries himself afterwards.

Arthur makes a soft noise of contentment and drops the towel from around his waist, turning to kiss Eames properly. They make their way back to the bedroom, although Eames is unwilling to stop running his hands over Arthur’s skin, and he’s making the journey far more difficult than it needs to be. Arthur tsks, but doesn’t try too hard to bat Eames’ hands away.

Eames ends up reclining against the pillows with Arthur nestled between his knees, his weight settling on Eames’ chest. The very last of the light has drained from the sky, and the room is almost entirely pitch black, save for a thin sliver of light from the streetlights outside that curves over Arthur’s lower back and onto the sheets of the bed. Eames rests his hands on that illuminated area of skin, and closes his eyes as he feels Arthur relax.

He’s on the brink of sleep when Arthur stirs. He huffs out little breaths and shifts minutely, like he does when he suspects projections are about to turn nasty. “You okay, Arthur?” Eames asks. He feels Arthur snap his head up to look at him, although in the dark he will hardly be able to see anything.

“Yeah, I’m just... Yeah, I’m fine.”

Eames allows himself to frown. He traces a pattern on Arthur’s skin as he considers his next move. Eventually, he clears his throat and says, “So, how was it for you?” He cringes at his own words as he says them, but it makes Arthur punch him lightly and laugh, so he considers his plan a success. Arthur doesn’t seem in a hurry to answer, though, whether because he doesn’t want to or because he doesn’t realise that Eames actually wants to know. Eames blindly reaches out in the dark and finds Arthur’s face, running his thumb along his jawline. He makes an embarrassing, lovestruck sound when Arthur nudges into his touch. Eames tries again, and asks, “Was that alright, Arthur? I didn’t push you too far, did I?”

Arthur is quick to answer. “No, no, not at all! It was-- you were amazing, Eames.” Then he pauses, and adds hesitantly, “Did I take too long? Was it really annoying?”

Eames scoffs. “Did you hear me complaining? Arthur, I can’t honestly remember what rubbish I was saying to you, but I’m entirely certain none of it was negative.” He sweeps his thumb across Arthur’s cheek and brushes the edge of his lip. “You’re beautiful when you come, you know. I don’t know what kind of arseholes you’ve slept with in the past, but if they can’t be bothered to wait for you, they’re not worth your time.”

“Eames...” Arthur sounds reverent.

Eames wraps his arms around Arthur again and rests his head back onto the pillow. “Shh, darling. Go to sleep.”

****

When Eames wakes up in the morning, Arthur is stretching out beside him, his arms above his head and his back arched beautifully. His joints click in their sockets and he gives a satisfied sigh. He starts slightly when Eames places a hand on the hollow of his belly, and Eames can only smile sleepily as Arthur curls onto his side and cuddles into Eames’ chest.

Eames pulls Arthur in tighter against himself and breathes in the soft scent of shampoo from his hair. Arthur hadn’t bothered drying his hair last night, and had clambered back into bed with it dripping onto his shoulders. Now, his hair is sticking up comically, tickling Eames’ nose as he breathes. Eames pulls back slightly from Arthur and attempts to smooth his hair down a little. Arthur quirks an eyebrow and laughs.

Nothing has changed; this is the same Arthur as the day before, as last month. Eames isn’t naive enough to believe that one good orgasm is going to cure Arthur of his insecurities, but if Arthur’s expression last night was anything to go by, Eames thinks Arthur might just let him keep trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [Becky](http://rascalthemutant.livejournal.com) for her wonderful beta work, and to [Ais](http://immoral-crow.livejournal.com) for generally being amazing and for giving me so much help with this. <3 <3 <3


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